


Barnstorm

by rageprufrock



Category: Smallville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-25
Updated: 2010-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageprufrock/pseuds/rageprufrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark believes in fairytales, just not "happily ever after."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barnstorm

It's a small change at first, and Clark almost doesn't notice it.

  
He assumes that this time, like all the other times, will be forgiven. Because Lex is older,  
and if it's one thing that he hears at the Ross house more than anything else, it's, "Stop it!  
He's younger than you!" Clark has had that burned into his brain, and he knows (like he  
knows that his mom and dad love him, like he knows that he loves Lana) that Lex will  
forgive him over time, over the course of days.

  
Because regardless what Clark's dad is prone to say, Lex is a big man.

  
So when Clark makes the first produce delivery After, he doesn't think too much of the  
fact that Lex isn't there. In fact, he's so caught up in being miserable over what happened  
with Lana, bubbling with resentment over Pete and Chloe that he doesn't think much of  
Lex at all until he sees the headline a week and a half later:

  
"Lex Luthor Returning to Metropolis?"

  
It is in big letters, thirty-two point font, and Chloe asks Clark about that day at lunch.

  
"So? Is it _true_, Clark?" she asks, eyes big, blue, and wide.

  
She still looks at Clark like they're sort of normal friends because she doesn't remember.  
But Clark remembers every moment, the feel of her small hands ripping his shirt open,  
how her mouth felt on his, her tongue melting into his mouth, dancing along his teeth,  
twirling with his own. Clark remembers how she tastes, and thinks that everything would  
be so much easier if he wanted that.

  
He shrugs helplessly. "I... Lex hasn't mentioned anything."

  
Chloe blinks at him. "When did you last talk to him, Clark?"

  
And that's when it hits him. Clark last spoke to Lex when he shoved Lex around, said  
that Lex stabbed him in the back. Clark hasn't said "Sorry" at all, and even _if_ Lex is  
the bigger man, is older, that's still extremely rude.

*****

  
So Clark goes around to the manor after school.

  
"Mr. Luthor is entertaining a guest right now," Joachim says, his voice level.

  
But Clark doesn't think too much about that, since Joachim says "guest" when Lex is  
"entertaining" his most hated business clients, and when Lex is "entertaining" his father.

  
But Clark decides to wait a minute outside of Lex's door, because if it's someone  
important (or Lionel), Clark doesn't want to interrupt.

  
The door is slightly open, and he hears laughing from inside, the sound of Lex's voice.

  
"I hear you have a little friend out here in the sticks, Lex."

  
The voice is cultured, silky, smooth and creamy like a pearl, and it takes Clark a full  
minute for the implication to sink into his mind. "Little friend?" Somehow, Clark doubts  
that whoever said it meant Chloe, or even Lana.

  
Lex laughs again, velvet thick, like honey rolling over sand. "Friend? Please, Lena. You  
and I know that I don't make friends in places like this."

  
Clark doesn't let himself process that sentence, because it would make something hurt.

  
"Oh?" the voice purrs. "Not friend. Distraction, then?"

  
Lex hums, and it sounds...wrong. Not at all like the Lex that Clark tells about Lana and  
drives around in the back forty with. This is the Lex that he always feels slightly  
uncomfortable around. The version of Lex with shark's teeth and Lionel's smile, a  
Metropolis glint in his eye that has nothing to do with city lights and big dreams: it's all  
about the gritty streets and Knowing.

  
"Distractions are petty, Lena." A gasp. "Jesus."

  
A laugh. "So Lex Luthor _does_ have religion."

  
"Oh, fuck you, Lena," Lex growls, and there's the sound of shifting leather, of cloth  
sliding against cloth.

  
And Clark can't resist anymore, so he flashes his x-ray over the doors.

  
Joachim, conveniently, appears out of nowhere, and tugs on Clark's arm. Clark turns  
around to stare, eyes wide like dinner plates and mouth agape. For a second, something  
flashes in the butler's eyes. Like reproach, but tempered with pity. Pity that Clark doesn't  
understand until much later.

  
"I suggest coming back later, Mr. Kent," Joachim says, once they're out of hearing range.

  
Clark nods woodenly.

  
He's never seen Lex like that before.

*****

  
Four days go by, and Lex buys a new car, a Porche. Every male in Smallville is in the  
Talon all of a sudden, waiting for Lex to pull up and stop for a coffee.

  
Any excuse to gape and gawk and if possible - caress.

  
Lex doesn't come around for coffee.

  
Chloe shows Clark another newspaper. "Luthor Buys Metropolis Penthouse," it says, this  
time in thirty-four point font, like Clark didn't see it the first time.

  
Clark takes the newspaper and sets it on fire behind the barn.

*****

  
Martha Kent realizes there's something wrong after she gets a message on her answering  
machine. Lex Luthor no longer needs his weekly shipments of organic vegetables;  
apparently, Lex has discovered a taste for the pesticides that his father makes.

  
She asks her son about it. "Clark, is everything okay between you and Lex?"

  
"You make it sound like we're dating," he snaps. Clark doesn't meet her eyes when he  
says this, but he does throw down a newspaper, stomping away.

  
Martha Kent blinks in the aftermath and looks down at the newsprint:

  
"Luthor Heir Rises to Deputy VP of Research and Development at LuthorCorp."

*****

  
"Dad says he's skipped work four times this week," Chloe confides. "Out with some girl  
he brought around to the factory once." Chloe makes a face. "Dad didn't like her."

  
Clark doesn't like her either. But that's a given.

  
"Four times?" Clark says instead.

  
Chloe nods. "That's never happened before," she says.

  
"I know," Clark murmurs.

  
Clark frowns and stares off to the castle, a strange jutting outline in the distance of flat,  
Kansas farmland. It's so terribly out of place, strangely beautiful.

  
Like Lex.

  
"I," Lex once told Clark, "changed a lot after I came to Smallville."

  
Lex is changing again.

*****

  
Management changes hands two weeks later.

  
Everyone in Smallville is shocked dumb.

  
"He, he obviously knows what he's doing," Jonathan Kent whispers softly, "if he's going  
to leave the plant with Gabe."

  
Martha nods.

  
But she's not thinking about the plant. She doesn't care that Smallville is a company town.

  
She's looking at her son's profile, framed in dusk, lingering in the window of the loft:

  
And he looks like he's waiting for someone who isn't going to come.

*****

  
Clark sees the moving trucks roll into Smallville exactly twenty-three hours later.

  
He knows it's too late already, because he should have gotten up the courage weeks ago.

  
But he has to try, because he's Clark Kent and his best friend is Lex Luthor and they are  
supposed to be legends. Lex promised. Lex, for all of his shortcomings, doesn't break  
promises, and that is because he makes so few of them.

  
But he made one to Clark.

  
The movers are hauling out crates of pottery when Clark gets there.

  
He slips in through the service entrance, and he's amazed to find the place mostlydeserted.  
No cooks, no housekeepers, no water boy. No Joachim, and that seems  
_wrong_. The cappuccino machine isn't running.

  
Clark weaves through the hallways until he reaches Lex's office.

  
It's completely deserted, every gothic pillar and mahogany shelf is abandoned. There  
aren't any books anywhere. The leather couches are gone. Lex's curio cabinet has  
disappeared. So has the rug.

  
So Clark takes a deep breath, and fights the pricking behind his eyeballs.

  
He gives himself a rush of speed and scans the house -

  
Oh, God, is all that he can think.

*****

  
Lex is standing out behind the manor, in a desolate patch of yellowing grass.

  
February in Smallville is not beautiful. Spring is not bursting. The sky looks bruised.

  
Lex is standing out behind the manor, in a desolate patch of yellowing grass, black  
trenchcoat billowing out behind himself, impeccable. He is holding his cell phone in one  
hand, the other tucked in a pocket, and his legs are planted apart, standing his ground. He  
is looking out across the Kansas plain, eyes narrowed in the harsh afternoon light, the  
collar of his shirt fluttering. He is wearing his driving gloves.

  
And in front of him, just a few feet away from Clark's face, dividing them -

  
The mangled Porche.

  
The symbol of Lex's curiosity that made a gulf between them.

  
For a moment, Clark is helplessly angry. If only Lex didn't ask questions. If only Lex  
was content to play dumb, like the rest of Smallville. Or - more fittingly, if only Lex had  
to see Clark use his powers. If only Clark had been _allowed_ by fate or accident or  
chance to tell Lex. If _only_.

  
"How predictable," Lex calls over the wind. "You almost missed this, Clark."

  
Clark swallows, because his name doesn't sound the way it always does in Lex's mouth.

  
"Missed what?" he asks, and it's hardly time for banter.

  
Lex shrugs. "Come here, Clark," he instructs.

  
So Clark does, his feet moving on their own, and he draws closer and closer, until his  
brain is sending all sorts of danger signals and warning signals and he can _smell_ Lex,  
the expensive cologne, Italian soap, and slick leather carried on the wind. Until it fills  
Clark's brain and he can't see the dying winter around himself, the broken car behind him,  
the castle around them, the town that breaks him.

  
They are close enough to touch now.

  
Lex doesn't shift his weight, doesn't break his gaze.

  
Lex is like a snake charmer, and his eyes reveal nothing, all metal-gray closed over.

  
"Lena says I should stab you in the face," he says casually. "I told her it would be  
ineffective, and waste a good knife in the process."

  
Clark jerks back, like a slap. And Lex takes a step forward.

  
They are close enough to kiss now.

  
One gloved hand reaches up, and brushes along Clark's cheek, so soft, and Lex's eyes are  
still that terrible gray, emotionless and still like a frozen lake. But Clark can feel the  
warmth of Lex's skin through the glove, and he leans into it, yearning for closeness,  
wanting touch, wanting..._everything_.

  
"Lex - " he starts.

  
Lex chuckles, a hoarse, bitter sound. "But I already wasted a sword on you."

  
And lightning quick, like reaching in for a kill, Lex's mouth is on his.

  
Soft, inexperienced lips ravaged by a hard, angry mouth. Tongue pushing until Lex is  
just _taking_ Clark's breath away, forcing his lips open and plunging in, pressing in along  
all of Clark's dark places, and he can't _breathe_, can't think, can't even _think_ because  
Lex's hand is keeping him still -

  
He can't lean into him.

  
Clark can't move away.

  
Clark can't even see.

  
And he feels teeth, crushing his bottom lip, biting hard enough to draw blood if Clark  
could be broken like that - holding him there for just a second before Lex breaks away -

  
Shoves Clark to the ground like a rag doll, still gasping for air.

  
And Clark stares up, amazed and terrified and all shattered inside, a dam broken.

  
Lex doesn't even look at him, just pulls a book of matches from his pocket, strikes one,  
and walks purposefully over to the car.

  
"This isn't about the waiting," Lex says icily. "This isn't about the tantrums."

  
Clark watches, frozen, horrified, lips bruised and heart tearing out of his chest.

  
"This is about everything in between," Lex hisses, eyes narrowing. "This is about the lies.  
This is about the fact that you're sixteen. This is about..."

  
Lex trails off, laughs, and gathers himself again. "This is about a lot of things."

  
"Wait - Lex, don't!" Clark yells, pushing himself up to his feet.

  
The match drops, one single dot of hard light against bleary gray.

  
The ruins are engulfed in flames, red hot licking at metal and leather upholstery and it  
smells terrible for the four seconds before it reaches the gas tank and the whole car  
explodes. The sky lights up like fireworks. Pieces of shrapnel flying in all directions,  
glass exploding, and metal combusting and Lex just _standing_ there and _Clark_ -

  
Rush of speed, and he's standing face to face with Lex, whose eyes are still impassive.

  
The noise behind them is unbearable, the car imploding, exploding, disintegrating.

  
"I'm sorry," Clark manages.

  
Lex smiles at him, and it's almost real. "I know."

*****

  
Clark watches Lex walk away long enough to see Lex's long, lithe body fold itself into  
the Porche that he bought a few weeks ago.

  
And then he runs.

  
Roars through Baker's field and stops in the middle, at the derelict cross where Lex met  
Clark the first and second times in their lives: once when Clark reached earth, and once  
when Clark was saved.

  
So he falls to his knees in that dust, and presses his fingers to his mouth.

  
If he tries hard enough, he can still taste Lex on his lips.

*****

  
Monday morning has Chloe in an uproar.

  
"Lex Luthor Announces Engagement to Lena Rawlings, Society Queen," screams the  
Daily Planet. They have started using forty point font, and Chloe is tearing out all of her  
hair.

  
"How could we have _totally_ missed this?" she shrieks. "How?"

  
Clark doesn't say a thing. Just reads the article, sees pretty pictures of Lex and Lena at  
parties and balls and society dinners. They look very nice together, he knows.

  
But he wonders if Lex kisses her like that, too.

  
Like the whole world is falling apart around them.

*****

  
Clark doesn't eat for three days, and Martha Kent visits Lex in Metropolis.

  
She comes back past midnight, a hard, watery look on her face, and Jonathan holds her  
for a long time before she can talk without shaking again.

  
"He's," she starts, confused, "he doesn't care anymore."

  
Jonathan shakes his head, like he knew this would happen all along. "He's a man, Martha.  
He couldn't be expected to play here forever. Besides, he's a Luthor."

  
Martha slaps him before she knows what she's doing.

  
And while Jonathan is holding his stinging cheek, she stares at her own hands.

  
"It's really over," she whispers. "And you still don't get it."

*****

  
Clark finds out in the days and weeks and months afterward that people said a lot of  
things about him and Lex that he never even heard about.

  
And after a few months, he stops crying himself to sleep, hand wrapped hard around his  
cock, shooting all over his own stomach weeping for Lex. And after a few months, he  
buries all those dreams of long, slender fingers under baseline heterosexual reaction.

  
And after a few months, parts of him start to numb.

  
All the gray areas.

  
He gets along with his father a lot better now.

  
His mom looks at him from the corners of her eyes, worried.

  
But then he asks Chloe to go steady, and she stops worrying so much.

  
And when his father finds them necking in the barn, Jonathan Kent just chuckles and  
slaps Clark on the back. "Be careful, son. Don't want to get her in trouble."

  
Clark just smiles and nods.

  
He was in trouble a long time ago.

*****

  
The wreckage is still out there, behind the Luthor castle in Smallville, Kansas.

  
He never tells Lois about this. In fact, to Clark's knowledge, he and Lex are the only  
people who ever saw it there: broken pieces of a burnt shell.

  
Clark goes there sometimes.

  
There's a piece of leather from the car that escaped, blown off or maybe it was torn from  
the car when Lex had it moved out into the yard. Just one small, ragged square. And if  
Clark tries hard enough, he can still smell Lex on it, in the air: the leather and clean and  
man smell of him, most closely identified with a Kansas evening, the orange seeping into  
the edges of the sky.

  
And he can still hear Lex's voice if he tries hard enough, telling him they're going to be  
the stuff of legends.

  
"What are you thinking about, Clark?" Martha likes to ask, softly and sadly.

  
He always gives her the same plastic smile, pieces of him paved over, locked away.

  
"Nothing, Mom," he tells her. "Just fairytales.


End file.
